Vengeance (A Samantha Tyler Thriller Book 1)

by Rachael Rawlings

  I slipped into the unoccupied bed and checked the clock. The sun would be up in about three hours, and I really needed to sleep. There were matters to address come morning. First, find somewhere to leave the dogs, somewhere they would be protected, and second, find Rowan.

  My thoughts roamed, drained and troubled, and I imagined my bed at the abbey. My memory flashed back to those first confusing moments, the sounds, the smells.

  My eyes fluttered open, and then closed against the silvery light. The pain wasn’t as violent, a sharp ache that seemed to start in my hip and then shoot down my leg. I gingerly tried to wiggle my toes, first on my good side, then the other. The pain flared with the simplest of movements, and I groaned quietly.

  “Now, then, are you starting to come around?” The voice was feminine with a foreign lilt.

  I forced my eyes open and saw the lamp above dimmed. My eyes skimmed the ceiling, cracked stone like a clever webbing from one very industrious spider. To my right I saw movement, and the shape resolved itself into a robed female. I blinked, struggling to clear my vision. It was a nun. Not the costumed mock-ups we would see around Halloween, but a rosy cheeked woman in her fifties, her hair completely concealed by a veil of some type.

  “Who are you?” I croaked, my throat feeling as though I had swallowed glass shards.

  “I am Sister Evangeline,” she replied mildly, “and would you like some water?”

  I tried to nod, but it made my head throb. “Where am I?”

  “You are safe, mon petit oiseau.” Sister Evangeline’s manner was gentle and reassuring.

  “Where am I?” I reiterated, hearing the irritation, the edge of fear in my voice.

  “Brother Joshua has sent you here for your recuperation,” she explained. “You recall you were hurt? You have had surgery on your hip. There was reconstruction which needed to be completed and internal bleeding that was addressed.”

  I flinched and searched my spotty memory for what took place. I recalled the shot, the dreadful pain and ripping sensation. I remembered a hospital, feeling hot and achy and wrong.

  “You were very sick. The place where you were shot harbored many infections, the soil was tainted.” She stepped closer to me and I could see light hazel eyes fringed by long lashes behind the lenses of her glasses.

  “Am I sick now?”

  “No, ma chérie,” her voice continued in a soothing hum. “We have worked extremely hard to make you well. You just need rest and thérapie physique to regain your strength.”

  “Am I in a hospital?” My thoughts still felt scattered, and I feared if I didn’t catch the train of the conversation, I was going to miss something vital.

  “You are in an infirmerie,” she replied. Her accent made the words musical.

  “Where?” I asked again as heavy fatigue soaked into my brain. “You are at the Abbey of Sainte Aelis in France.”

  My last thought was the word France, followed quickly by abbey.

  The abbey building itself was extraordinary, a flashback of days where the accommodations were partitioned into cells, single rectangular spaces holding nothing more than a cot and a blanket.

  My own room wasn’t far off that, but the cot was supplanted with a bed, the mattress plush and comfortable enough for me to tolerate after my surgery and subsequent rehabilitation. There was a tiny antique chest of drawers with a transparent glass jar where fresh flowers were arranged every other day. In the early time of my habitation, the room also held the walker I required for weight baring and balance, and a small cart which held my medications, bandages for my wound, and other medical equipment.

  I grimaced and unconsciously rubbed at the scar. My hip hurt off and on still, especially when rain threatened. I felt like an old woman on those days, and I was positive I would be plagued by arthritis once I got old enough for an AARP card, if I survived that long.

  I supposed I needed to admit they did teach me something, those nuns at the abbey. I sighed and rolled over, dragging the blanket closer and peering into a pair of brown eyes. Fluffy was now awake and looking at me, but Bart was fast asleep and snored gently. I exhaled and stared at the ceiling. Sister Bernice insisted upon a good hour of silence before bedtime, a time for prayer and contemplation, giving me many opportunities to reflect on my past, to think about my father, to think about the mistakes we made. I wondered if he entertained any concept of what he was getting into when he made the first bargain so long ago. Overcome with despair and frustration about my mother's illness, I believed perhaps he lost his mind. Did he honestly suspect he was negotiating with Satan, or did he assume he was dealing with a maniac who only believed himself to be immortal and invincible? At the time, I was away at school, drowning my doubts in classes, trying not to ask questions. Now I thought about all those hours I spent contemplating my father’s fate, I understood I was no closer to a resolution than I was the night my mother died.

  Fluffy made a soft whine which jarred me from my bleak speculations.

  “Okay, okay, I’ll take you for a walk,” I assured him, subconsciously relieved I wouldn’t be laying there thinking of the past. I swung my feet over the side of the bed and slipped on a pair of worn jeans and a t-shirt with the University of Kentucky emblem on the front. I didn’t plan to leave the hotel room again, but I also didn’t plan to bring two fully grown Doberman Pinscher dogs into the hotel with me. Now my plans for revenge were suspended by the need to re-home the animals. I knew enough now about the nature of the dogs to recognize they would make someone wonderful pets. Although they were bred to be guard dogs, their training was shaky at best, and were better suited for a life of petting and companionship. I possessed no dog experience myself, but I believed they could transfer into a life of leisure with ease. I only wished I could do the same. It was on days like these I grew weary of the fight.

  With my movement, Bart woke and stood, stretching languidly. Fluffy leaped off the bed and landed close to his canine companion. As I clipped the stolen leashes on the dogs, I checked the time. It was a bit after three in the morning. I would be driving north toward Kentucky the following day. There were meetings I would need to arrange, not the least of which would be contacting Brother J. In the battle between good and evil, he was a strange lynchpin, and I needed advice. I also had some very important errands to take care of, and tramping around Louisville, my temporary hometown, was imperative. I snagged my little sheath with the dagger and belted it on. No one knew where I was. At least no one I didn’t deliberately tell, but I wouldn’t walk anywhere unarmed.

  I stepped out the door and locked it behind me. My car keys were in my pocket. If I suspected anything was amiss when I came back, I was prepared to leave and return later for the katana. I couldn’t exactly be seen strolling on the beach with a long sword at my side. My life was very much like that now, unfettered and unpredictable.

  “Rowan,” I mumbled, as I led the dogs away from the hotel. The beaches were empty on a night like this, but the moon shown bright enough for us to see. I visited Fort Myers Beach only once before with my best friend Alex, a high school adventure during spring break. The memories from that time were all good. I supposed it was why I chose to stay there rather than along any of the other dozens of beaches in the area.

  The dogs trotted while I rolled the name over in my mind. I knew no one with the name Rowan. It wasn’t a common name either, so I was confident if I heard the name before, I would remember.

  I pressed my free hand to my hip and realized it was aching a little. My training often made it throb, but this time, there was an actual battle. Of course, what would one expect to happen after being shot point blank in the hip, after being shot by the man I loved?

  The brief picture of Victor McCain, the wide shouldered, powerful man who rescued me time and time again, only to shoot me deliberately and unavoidably, darted through my mind. I knew why he did it. Victor was the Hand of God, God's earthly bounty hunter, and an evil fallen angel road shotgun in my head and he shot me to force it
out. But there again, the coldness which allowed him to do such a thing, which made it a viable alternative, also showed me what a cold bastard he could be. And then his part in my father’s death. I shut my eyes and shook my head, as though to dislodge the memory. Did I forgive him? Yes, perhaps I did. Would I forget? No.

  We turned around after we passed a few public beach accesses, striding out of reach of the lights of the houses, both new and old, that were tucked next to the coast. My hair still smelled of wind and shampoo when we approached the hotel. It was quiet. No one came while we were away, and the air was spiced with salt and fish, no brimstone.

  I used the key to let us back in the room and watched the slightly sandy dogs settle on the carpet. I locked the door, and as a second layer of defense, picked up the desk chair and wedged it beneath the knob before dropping into bed.

  With the smell of the gulf still soothing my senses, I fell asleep at last.

  When I woke up the next morning, I knew who I was going to call. It was an easy one. Kurt Pervis might have been one of Vic’s buddies, one of his Scooby Gang, but I knew he liked me too. When it comes to computers in general, and hacking in particular, there were none better. We grew closer on the last assignment we shared going after the Watchers, a group of fallen angels banished by God who found a way to return and wreak havoc among the living. One of them ended up possessing me for a time, leading to the shooting and the rehabilitation at the abbey. Kurt would be delighted to help me. I only needed to make sure he wouldn’t disclose my endeavors to Vic.

  I left Fluffy and Bart in the room, realizing there was nothing to feed two large dogs. I drove my rental, a snappy little Ford sedan, to a nearby Topps grocery to grab dog food, and stopped off by Heavenly Biscuit to pick up a cup of coffee and a huge cinnamon roll. When I got back, I was pleased to hear the single alarm bark of my companions. Their training was specific. They would bark to notify me of any intruders, but only once. They didn’t chase squirrels, they didn’t bark at other dogs, they kept their composure under stress. Some of this training remained after their initial instruction. Some was what I worked on when I lived in the house. No one ever understood what I did with the dogs on those long empty afternoons when Wheadon left on business. But it kept me sane, kept me going, fueled my plans for my eventual revenge.

  When I cracked the door, and slipped into the room, I murmured the release word and the dogs once again returned to their relaxed state, doggy smiles of satisfaction appearing as they watched me pour dog food into paper bowls.

  After I devoured my cinnamon roll and the dogs gobbled their kibble, I packed my things and considered my next move. I needed to get help. I had gone as far as the legwork would take me. Now I needed high-tech assistance, and Kurt was my best bet.

  I gathered my things and was sitting on the bed when I made the call. Kurt was a great guy, shy and too smart; he was a socially awkward computer geek who happened to be a very handsome guy with surfer boy good looks. If he ever understood the attraction of all those tanned muscles and chiseled features, he would be a lady killer. I hoped he never would.

  When he answered, I smiled without thinking. “Kurt, this is Samantha.”

  I heard the indrawn breath, the long hesitation, “Dude,” he drew out, surprise evident in his tone. “I mean, Dudette,” there was a smile in his voice, too. “Man, where have you been, girl? We’ve been worried sick, me and the big guy.”

  The big guy was his name for Vic, and I winced at the term. “I’ve been recuperating,” I said.

  “God, I’m so sorry about that.” His voice held an edge of shock in its tone. “Dudette, how are you?”

  I chuckled at the term. Only Kurt. “I’m much better,” I replied. “I’ve finished therapy and I’m working now.”

  “Working?”

  “I’m doing research for the people I have been staying with,” I responded, trying to keep close to the truth but bypassing the facts.

  “Research? For who? Where have you been?”

  I took a deep breath. “Kurt, I’ve been with some of Brother Joshua’s people, but I can’t tell you who or where. I have to help protect them after all they’ve done for me.”

  “Oh, sure, sure,” he said.

  “They're good people, and they’ve given me some tasks I need to do.” It wasn’t exactly a lie, but it wasn’t the truth either.

  “Oh, okay,” he sounded a little doubtful. “So, is there anything I can do to help?”

  “I am so glad you asked,” I said.

  Fifteen minutes later, Kurt was on the trail of the name Rowan and I also asked him to search for associates of Wheadon. I didn’t want to give him the name; Kurt was the one who found out Wheadon held me down in Florida and told Vic who, along with his right-hand man Winston Reynolds, came to set me free. His death would soon be big news in Florida, yet I saw no other choice.

  “And Kurt,” I began, feeling a surge of discomfort. “I don’t want Vic to know about anything I’m doing.”

  “Oh, man, I’m not sure about that,” Kurt began. “If he finds out-”

  “Kurt,” I cut him off, my voice firm. “Vic is The Hand of God now. He has things he needs to do and worrying about me isn’t one of them. I don’t need him interfering in what I’m doing, and I don’t want him coming around.” I let a little vulnerability slip into my voice and despised myself for manipulating the younger man. “I can’t deal with him just yet. I’m not ready.”

  I heard Kurt sigh as he thought about it.

  “And one more thing,” I said changing the subject.

  Kurt called me back before I left the motel room. I wouldn’t be staying another night. I needed to move to stay safe, and I didn’t want anyone to know where I was.

  He had both good and bad news. Kurt provided me with the name of someone I could go to to procure some much-needed equipment for my next meeting. He also gave me a name for an associate of Wheadon, and he didn’t comment about learning of Wheadon’s recent death which made me think the body was not yet discovered. Great. It gave me a little more time to get things done.

  The bad news was the name Rowan, first or last, didn’t turn up any matching persons. There was a university with the name, but I was sure it was unrelated. Whoever this Rowan was, he wasn’t yet on the tech radar when it came to the Church of the Light Reclaimed, the followers of Satan. I considered briefly running it past some of the sisters at the abbey but rejected the notion. As soon as they found out where I was and what I was doing, I was bound to get interference from them too. The good sisters were in eternal upheaval in their interest about my everlasting soul.

  Since God was dead, I wasn’t nearly as worried.

  I drove the rental sedan down the main street of Estero Island and over the causeway, bidding the Gulf of Mexico goodbye as I passed. I felt like I was living on borrowed time and wondered if I’d ever see the Gulf again.

  I followed my cell phone’s GPS to the address Kurt provided, a tidy little bungalow down the street from the lush Edison Estate, the summer home of the inventor Thomas Edison, one of the touted landmarks of Fort Myers.

  I pulled into the driveway and glanced at my canine companions. With them in tow, I was making a much bigger impression on the bystanders. With the heat now in the mid 80’s, I caught the leashes and guided the dogs out of the car. I hoped Rob Castel, Kurt’s friend, liked dogs because I wasn’t leaving them in the rented sedan.

  A slim young guy with tailored shorts and a bright tropical shirt greeted me at the door. His glasses were round and perched on his nose, and he nudged them up with one finger as he opened the door. “You’re Samantha?” he inquired, clearing his throat, his eyes moving from my face to the dogs sitting alert and tense, at my side.

  I wondered which of us was making him more uneasy. After seeing his eyes flicker away, I guessed it was me.

  “Yes, Rob, Rob Castel?” I answered, trying to keep my voice even. I didn’t want to scare this guy to death.

  “Sure,” he said promptly. �
��Um, come in.” He stepped back, and I followed, Fluffy and Bart walking with perfect composure into the cool and dim interior of the residence. By the looks of the home, our Rob was a little OCD. The place was in order, not a misplaced book or piece of clothing in sight. The blue light of a computer screen gave the room a ghostly cast.

  “This is a nice place,” I said glancing around. The order of it was a little disconcerting, but my own recent living arrangements were similarly sparse.

  “Thanks,” Rob replied, his hand reaching up to tug one earlobe in another nervous gesture.

  “Did Kurt tell you what I need?”

  He gave a jerky nod in reply. “Yeah, it’s back here.” He led the way out of the living room into what should have been a guest bedroom but was decked out almost exclusively with shelves housing computers, computer parts, cords, cables, and other gadgets. He gestured to a table where a slightly battered laptop sat in the center of the desk. The screen was lit, a bar running across the display as it loaded. “It doesn’t look like much, but I built it myself. Everything that could be upgraded has been: RAM, hard drive, graphics card. It’s fast and the battery is new. It’ll last you.”

  “Okay,” I answered, looking at the foreign components from computers and other systems. “And the rest?”

  He grabbed a package from one shelf. “Surveillance,” he said shortly. “This’ll do what you want, no muss, simple to figure out. You stick one on or near your guy, and you’ll be able to hear everything he says.” He held up a little clear plastic sleeve with a tiny dot of a microphone for me to admire. I nodded. “And I’ve got the other equipment too.” He seemed to become more comfortable in his skin as he spoke. He drew out a chair. “Sit here and I’ll show you.”